


the space between the hammer and the nail

by Shenanigans



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Dark Humor, Fix It Fic, Gen, M/M, blatantly stealing bits from big hero six, fluff but like pixar does fluff, heavy themes of alcoholism and grief, jason is not coping well, no beta we die like robins, roy!bot, this won't stay g rated guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26286952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/Shenanigans
Summary: Injured and alone in a city he had hoped to keep buried with his best friend, Jason Todd stumbles on a secret gift that he wishes he hadn't found.Roy Harper finds a way to watch his back even from the grave.
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	the space between the hammer and the nail

Jason didn't want to be here. Star City spiked brightly from the sound, glittering and reflected in the choppy water that crashed and poked against the shoreline under the baying trill of gulls and the low moans of boats. He hated the way the city seemed so pretty in the dark, like a hooker with glitter and wet lip gloss ducking into an alley with a promise. The reality was this city was narrow-hipped and angry as an addict, slapping away from the abrupt hillside and then rolling in a chunky slide of concrete to the docks; it just knew how to get what it wanted. Grapples were mostly useless here. Star City was for free running and the long winded gymnastics of bounding from building to building. 

This wasn't a place for birds and bats, just merry-fuckin'-men and their lithe upper-body strength and lean long distance runner's build. Jason was brawny and wounded. He didn't want to fucking be here.

"Buck the fuck up, Todd," he muttered to himself, hand under his hooded jacket and clutched his bleeding side. 

If Roy was here, he would have tucked a heavy arm up over his shoulder and bitched at Jason the entire way to the safe house. If Roy was here, he would have snarled, gone quiet except for the soft thrumming twang of bowstring and caught the fourth man hiding in the shadows before he could have impaled Jason on a fucking pike. 

"Who the fuck uses pikes?" Jason panted through gritted teeth before swallowing around the soft deadly cold that curled in his lungs and wet his tongue. He couldn't puke, not right now. The pain was a low electric throb, the only heat pulsing in a low wet slop against his fingers and then cooling tacky in the waist of his pants, slicking it to his thigh. "What the fuck kind of bullshit happens in this city, Harper?"

If Roy was here, Jason wouldn't hate this city so much. If Roy was here, he would laugh that bright sloppy grin and stumble them into the safe house. He'd sling him onto the edge of the kitchen counter. He would push him against the woodwork and sigh over the mess Jason had made of himself. If Roy wa-

This wasn't his city and he didn't have time for ghosts. The safehouse here wasn't used much. 

"People, places, and things," Roy had told him one night while he nursed a Mexican Coke in a pebbled glass bottle while Jason frowned down at the map- red marks tracking the slow crawl of a new supplier up the coast and out into the interior past the trailer park riddled village of Bellsight. Roy shrugged and Jason watched his throat work around a swallow, the ripple of freckles and a loose curl behind his left ear that hadn't made it into the sloppy tangled bun. 

"What?"

"They tell you that in AA. You have to change people, places, and things," Roy had made a strange sound like a choked laugh mixed with a scoff. "Of course, then they tell you not to make any major changes in your first year. So, it's a little confusing."

"Right." Jason had looked back to the map. "So, that's a no to heading back to Star City?"

"Ollie's turf, man. I have a spot, but..." 

"Okay, we can try to find the previous port." 

Roy had moved closer, plucking the red marker from Jason's fingers and hunched over the detailed map, the topographical lines in a pale brown and green under the overlay with buildings. He circled a small building near the docks, just under the viaduct that connected the main highway to the state route. He'd stood and Jason had tried not to point out how close he was. Roy had always gotten too close, pushing absently into his space with warm hands and warm smiles and warm eyes. "Just in case you need it." 

Jason had been trying so hard to be cold, to be hard. Roy had always been good at melting metal into something malleable.

The safe house wasn't much to look at from the outside: an abandoned gas station with an attached mechanic bay. The island with the gas pumps was dark, the pumps themselves half removed with a length of faded caution tape criss crossed over the metal poles that propped the canopy over the cracked moss covered pavement. The convenience kiosk was outfitted with bullet proof glass, a grated pass through, and door plastered with out of date newspapers. 

The sign said it was open.

Jason sucked at his bottom lip, catching a string of shocky drool and swallowing. He stumbled to the blue metal door on the side of the mechanic bay. He could feel himself starting to go loose and liquid, trying to pass out. He locked one knee and leaned heavily against the cinderblock wall, blue and white paint flaking onto his jacket as he reached blood slick fingers to open the biometric reader under the fuse box cover.

There was a long patch of graffiti on the wall behind him, electric colors and stunningly beautiful under the lichen and the weathered peeling layers. He had to wipe the blood from his hand to get the reading and almost sobbed in relief when the door buzzed through a series of pneumatic locks and popped inward.

Roy would have turned on the lights. Roy would have kicked the door shut behind them and gone directly for the med kit. Roy would have helped him before he helped himself.

"Love and service," Roy had told him one night, not looking up from the scope on the rifle he was using to track their target. "They say that's what the program is at base. Seems fake." Roy had managed to shrug without moving, more of a motion of his mouth twisting to the side. “I mean, they took my booze and my drugs and like make me talk about shit. One guy tried to tell me no fucking in the first year. Fuck if they can have my orgasms too.” Jason watched him too closely. Jason shouldn't be able to tell these things from the flutter of pale lashes and gold brow. “Seems a high price for sobriety.”

Twenty minutes had passed and then Roy had taken the shot, a silent pop of air that plunged the building across from them into darkness. He'd hit a button with a round at almost 500 yards. He hadn't moved, just a soft press of finger before rolling into motion and blinking up at Jason behind the stupid backwards trucker hat and red domino. 

"I kind of want it, though."

Jason had been grateful for the red helmet, the way his gaze hadn't been obvious on how relaxed Roy looked on his back on the gravel rooftop, knees splayed as he disassembled the rifle by rote.

He hadn't said anything. He didn't let himself wish he had.

The faint ambient light kept to itself in perfect rectangles that caught on the edges of the littered mess of one of Roy's workshops. A bit of clear plastic fluttered as the door slammed shut behind him, weighted and set to re-lock in a quick series. The near wall was set with long metal tables covered in boxes, bits of electronic parts, a few coffee cups, and a peg board with neatly drawn lines where tools were supposed to go when Roy finished with them. The interior floor was a mountain range of clear plastic covered projects of various heights and completion. Jason held himself up with one heavy palm that scooted along the edge of the workbench. He let himself make a mess, let himself not be angry at the clatter of tools as he stumbled and forced himself forward.

He didn't have Roy at his back. He didn't have the redhead bitching and making excuses as he followed after to snag the bits of tech from the cement floor. He didn't have Roy.

Roy Harper was dead and Jason hadn't been there. 

"Hey, Jaybird, listen to this!" Roy had called from where he was flat on his back on the couch, one pale heel hooked over the back and waggling long freckled toes in an easy dangle. "...But it is from our twisted relations with family, friends, and society at large that many of us have suffered the most. We have been especially stupid and stubborn about them." Roy had paused, lifting a broad hand into the air and Jason had watched the flicker of muscle in his forearm as he ticked fingers in time to emphasize the next words. "The primary fact that we fail to recognize is our total inability to form a true partnership with another human being."

Roy had popped up, blinking at him with the slim blue text open and bridged over his thumb as he flopped over the back of the couch. "You thi-?"

"You're my partner," Jason had answered, ignoring the way the reading had made him so irrationally angry. "You _are_ stubborn and stupid, though."

Roy had touched his pink tongue to his top lip, eyes going sharp with that utter focus before he'd huffed and flopped back onto the cushions. "Love you too, Jaybird."

"Fuck off," Jason had sighed and left the room.

The far wall had an emergency rinse shower installed in the center: the shower head orange metal and almost glowing in the dim. A chain swung lightly, the soft sound of the metal triangle pull-cord handle a light note behind the noise Jason was making. There was a small lip in the tiled area around the drain keeping a dust covered rolling chair from slowly moving to the opposite side of the room. To the left was a stainless steel basin sink. To the right was a metal locker filled with spare uniforms, towels, and sealed packs of surgical tools to supplement the stocked med kit. There were two large professional grade refrigerators just past the sink, half blocking the door to the front of the gas station where the living area was hidden. 

He just had to get from where he was barely standing to the shower. 

It was less than five feet of pale dusty cement floor and small tiled lip. He needed to rinse the wound, clean where the pike had gored him, and manage to get into the chair so he could start stitching himself. He needed to not pass out. He needed to not bleed out in Roy’s mess. It was less than five feet. Jason couldn’t feel his fingertips as he reached and groped numbly for the release on his helmet, the soft hiss of the seal breaking like white noise. It dropped, cracking heavy against the floor and Jason could hear the soft panted pained noises that eeled past his teeth. 

“Five feet, Todd.” Jason just had to get there.

"The first step is always the hardest," Roy had told him, voice quiet over the line. Jason had been staring at the ceiling, on his back and trying not to be angry that the first step Roy would take would put him out of reach. 

"Admitting you have a problem?" Jason hadn't tried to hide the bitterness. "You've never had a problem with that, Harper."

He had been able to hear the way Roy's smile dimmed. It was in the way the words were softer, the tone hushed. "That I'm powerless. That's the hard part. I got the whole unmanageable part. I think everyone knows I'm a fuckin' shit show, Jaybird. But... I- I can't-"

"Do what you have to man," Jason had said before he wouldn't.

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you soon."

"Sure." 

Jason bit down hard, steeled himself, and took a step away from the workbench. He didn't stop the hoarse sharp cry at his full weight jostling the wound. It felt like white and noise, filling him with something stunning and overwhelming- a half turn from pain and into something unbearable. "One step."

He felt his boot come down on something, mind thin and flickering as he recognized a screwdriver and then belatedly that he was falling. It wasn't slow motion, just a dawning acceptance that he was going to die here. He caught the edge of a tarp, instinct making him fight.

Jason Todd hit the ground with a sharp cry, plastic tarp clutched in his fingers and choked a pained sob. He tried to catch focus under the scattered white that blitzed when his head cracked against the cement. He could feel the wound trying to open more, the wrongness of his body shredded and open, the blowtorch hot lines of pain that crackled with his stuttering pulse.

"Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_ ," he huffed, eyes watering and mouth a messy smear as he tried to stay on his side. He shuffled his feet, trying to get the weight of his boots to catch, to give him something like leverage. There would be a smeared puddle of blood that he'd leave behind him, slick against the cement. It would be cut with the scramble of his boots. It would have smaller lines cut from the buckle of his holster, his knee, his hand, his desperation.

Something moved in the room, stilling him. It hadn't been more than a slight chirruped hum followed by a soft whir like an old computer booting up. He hadn't been followed. He couldn't have been followed. Another tap of light noise and a rattle of something kicking a loose tool. His vision was flickering; he was barely conscious as he rolled onto his back, swallowing the scream that wanted to hiccup out of him at the shift of torn muscle. His body wanted to shut him down, overloaded and disconnected as it tried to keep him alive despite his best efforts. 

Something moved in the room and Jason pulled his Beretta. It was muscle memory. He aimed without needing to focus- ingrained and automatic.

"Hello. Do you requi-?" 

Jason fired. The shot went wide, the recoil almost too much as it tossed his wrist. He heard his weapon hit the ground, the scrape against his knuckles negligible under the other pains.

"Woah! _Woah!_ Rude." Jason sensed a ripple of movement, something pale waving wildly around in the room. "You _shot_ at me?"

Jason whined, confused as Roy Harper leaned over him, red hair caught back and pale skin glowing. Jason blinked and tried to focus on the broad planes of his face, the way his lips were pale but freckled, the crooked bridge of his nose, and the sharp green of his eyes. He let himself stare, let himself linger in a moment of reckless joy. "Roy?"

"Hey. Don't move. I'm here to help." Roy smiled and Jason let himself sink into black.

**

He was being carried. 

**

Jason choked awake, moving past the shocked blank blackness and directly to a sharp edged note of panic that had him gasping around the press of devastating pain, body jerking.

"Don't move," came a familiar voice and Jason whined a soft note from behind his teeth, forcing his focus to steady and latch onto the improbable sight of Roy Harper stitching Jason together with smooth steady movements. "Go back to sleep."

"Wha-?"

Roy turned, head swiveling and gave him that small crooked smile before Jason felt a prick and then the cool slip of unconsciousness folding him up into the dark again. "Say goodnight, Jason."

**

The first thing Jason knew was that he was hurt, it throbbed dully under the cotton packed cool of the drugs in his system. He could feel them in the slight nausea and the way his tongue felt thick and dry, glued to the roof of his mouth. He came back to himself in moments, a stuttered glance at pale dawn light warming the edge of a white wall, tiled with the speckled sheets of drop ceiling linked with the faint bubbling of white painted metal strands. He could smell something like an over warm engine, aware of the vibrant heat thrumming against him- the sound was a soft white noise shushing him back to sleep.

The second thing he knew was that he was thirsty. He could feel the headache pushing angry palms against the inside of his skull, pressing behind his eyes and tensing his jaw. The wound still throbbed, a sharp bright reminder that he should be dead under the slower awareness of the rest of his body. He could feel his fingers start to twitch, his toes curling even as a deeper breath stabbed the pain in his side more present. He latched onto it.

He wanted to feel something.

The room was a blank square of painted cinder block topped with left over drop ceiling, a small vent churning cold air into the space and blowing a small spider web in a long lazy flicker. The narrow windows were hazed over, lingering dirt freckling the glass that ran in long thin lines from the floor to the ceiling in slim stripes. They reminded him of the archers' windows in a castle, but really just spoke to the modern cement style of the building.

He was in bed. He was in a bed with his arms at his sides and an IV taped to the back of his hand. He could feel the odd sharpness of it when he curled his hand into a fist slowly, the drag of the tape against his skin. He was bandaged, the tight pressure of it firm around his middle and then up over his shoulder. The bed was cool where he wasn't, the sheets smelled like faded bleach and industrial detergent.

Under that was cedar and vetiver. Under that was Roy, just as faded. 

“Good morning.” He should have clocked a person nearby, but Jason just inhaled sharply, stunned as Roy Harper moved into the room on silent feet, carrying a tray that held a med kit, a glass of water, and a bowl of something that smelled like butter and sweet. 

“What the fuc-?”

“Don’t freak out.” Roy moved with a slippery grace, twisting to set the tray down on the table just beside the bed and leaned to blink once before tipping back after noting the drip on the IV. He was alive, a wild expanse of pale skin mottled with patches of sun smeared cinnamon colored freckles over his shoulders, over the lines of his collarbones, and a small smattering around his hips that disappeared under the loose waist of a pair of jeans. He was bare chested, barefoot, and wearing a backwards baseball cap that kept his hair out of his face. Roy smiled, turning to let his green gaze sweep in one long fluid motion from where Jason was trying to shift and find something like control over his drugged limbs in a wash of terror that was colder than the drugs icing his veins. He watched the redhead lift a hand and give a small perfectly round wave. “I’m here to help.”

“You’re fucking dead. This is- did I die? Am-”

“Your heart rate is increasing. What did I just say about panicking?”

“Roy?”

The redhead grinned, crooked and perfect and Jason wanted to hit himself in the face at the way his heart ached at the sight. He wanted to pull the needle from the back of his hand and scramble for his weapons. “Hey, Jaybird.”

He managed to kick his feet, kick his heels and yelp at the sharp pain that blinded him. He managed to twist through it, biting his lip bloody as he tried to get away, caught and frantic in his own body. He couldn’t even form words, just the shaky noise of rage and under that something that could have been fear if he let himself believe it.

A heavy hand settled on his chest, just over his breastbone and the calloused tips of two fingers touched with a sure weight against the divot between his collarbones and pressed. Jason felt the breath punch out of him, the way his body tried to relax into the touch. It was familiar, the same weight that would come and coax him out of nightmares, out of the blackest of rage, out of the dark and into something closer to reality.

“Hey, hey hey hey. You’re safe. You with me there, Jaybird? Hey, it’s okay. Here, count with me, okay? Breathe in, one.” And there would be a tap and Jason would find Roy’s wrist in the dark and stare, the green fading with the memory of dirt under his nails. “That’s it. Doing so good. Two.” The memory of dirt crushing and pressing around him, in his ears, in his nose, the taste of it in his mouth as he tried to breath, drowning in the dirt in the dark. “One more. You’re here. Come on. Three.” He could feel Roy’s fingers tapping in time with his breath and clutched and counted. “That’s it. That’s it. Come on back to me, Jay. That’s it.”

Jason would come to with both hands wrapped bruising tight around Roy’s wrist, choking on his own terror and helplessly grateful for the other man as he nodded and waited. Roy was always more patient than anyone gave him credit for. “There you are.”

"No." 

"You have sustain-"

"You're dead. You fuckin' died."

“Technically,” Roy tilted his head and Jason watched the way his face went blank, before straightening. "So did you."

Jason could feel the heat in his eyes, the burn at the back of his throat and the way his head throbbed. "Roy, what the fuck is going on? Ow, _fuck_."

"You have been injured. Please, do not move. I have provided you with the necessary first aid." Roy paused, eyes sweeping over him before a pale freckled hand planted on his shoulder and pressed him implacably patient back into the pillow. "I will continue to provide care based on current functionality, but I have conflicting guidelines on medication. Would you like more pain kil-"

" _No_. I want some fucking answers."

The other man straightened and went entirely blank, a startling and terrifying nothingness that kept him straight-backed and yet loose in his frame before he lit up. Roy relaxed and went easy in the cant of his hip and reckless grin. It was like something had stepped into him from behind and started him into motion. "Hey Jaybird. I know you're probably going to kick my ass if you find this before I'm done, but just in case." Roy rolled his eyes and tapped his temple, tongue touching his top lip before he hooked the rolling metal chair close and spun it to plop down, folding his arms over the backrest and shrugging. "I just know you, man. I can't be there all the time and you are going to get hurt, so this way I can be in two places at once!" He smiled, spreading his arm wide. "Consider this like an adult version of the My Buddy Doll."

"That's what Chuck-"

"You're probably saying something about Chucky right now," Roy snorted and continued and Jason realized he was watching a recording. " _Typical_. I build you a fucking whole ass robot and you bitch about movies.” Roy shook his head, scratching at his jaw. “Look man. You suck at asking for help and we both know it. So, you know, I know you're like... convinced you're a bad guy or whatever. I know you think I’m some hero you can’t be around, but," Roy looked away, frown cutting sharp over the broad plane of his jaw. "You're my best friend. _And_ an idiot. And well..."

Jason couldn't look away, not when Roy was looking down at him like that, like he was important and necessary. 

"I got you, buddy." Roy shrugged and reached out, fingers touching something in the air before the body went loose and limp again, blank before smearing that soft harmless smile back over its face and tilting its head at him. 

"Hello, you are injured. Initializing scan!"

"Don't fucking scan me-"

"Scan complete."

“What the fuck, Roy?” Jason covered his face with a hand, burning under the humiliation and weight of emotion that welled in his chest. "I'm _fine_."

"Incorrect! You have sustained a traumatic soft tissue injury congruent with a stabbing. Initial emergency services provided you with thirty two stitches, an initial blood transfusion, and sedatives to keep you still."

"You _drugged_ me!"

"Your current vitals indicate that you may require further pain relievers." The Roy shaped robot lifted both hands, spreading its fingers wide. "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your current pain?"

"Zero," Jason growled, huffing a breath around a surge of rage. "I'm fine. Let me up."

"Does it hurt when I touch-" The pale hands dropped, flipping back the sheet and starting to smooth lightly over his stomach. Jason had a moment of utter disbelief that Roy had designed the robot with his fucking callouses.

"Don't touch me," he growled, scrambling away as the bot skimmed its fingertips lower, face a mask of concern that pulled it's red brows together and tucked a light frown over its pale lips. "I'm fi-auGH!"

He recognized that he was falling before he hit the ground with a sharp cry, choking on the wave of heat and sheer pressure that shocked through him. He whined, panting harshly as he moved a hand over where his side was a white throb of heat. 

"You have fallen." The Roy robot bent over the bed, blinking at him and holding up both hands again. "On a scale of one to ten-"

"Shut the fuck up." He huffed a breath, exhaling a soft pained sound.

"On a scale of one to-"

"Roy, I am going to murder you."

"It is all right to cry," the false Roy told him, voice mild. 

"I'm not crying."

"It is a natural response to pain. Please, lie still and try not to move. I will scan you for further injuries."

"Don't fucking scan-"

"Scan complete. You have pulled the stitches. I will assist you."

"Don't touch me." Jason watched the Roybot shift and scoot lightly around the edge of the bed before coming to crouch next to him. He let himself stare. It was backlight in the gauzy morning light, red hair bright and catching flickering highlights. He could see the soft glow of arm hair, blond and light over its forearm, the soft pale rose of its nipples taut in the cold and the fold of pale milky skin at the bend in its waist, an improbable navel and the distracting line of fiery red hair that trailed low behind the button on the soft looking denim. He could see the way the shift of its weight pressed its bare foot to the floor, the way it reached to touch two fingers for counterbalance. 

He could almost let himself pretend.

He could almost let himself-

"God, you're stubborn," Roy would whisper, sighing at the mess Jason had made of himself. He would reach, scoop him up and Jason would let himself marvel at the strength hidden in those lean hips, the breadth of his chest and the knotted core strength that heaved him up and against the hard chipped planes of his chest.

"Roy?"

"You come to me," Roy would have told him, voice urgent. "No matter what, no matter when. If you need help. You come find me. Just because you can stitch yourself up doesn't mean you should, okay?"

"What if you're the one who needs help?"

"That's what I've got you for, Jaybird."

"I wasn't there," Jason told the Roy that was easing him gently back into the bed, fingers moving competently from the pulse at his jaw to the needle in the back of his hand, to where he was bleeding sluggish and tacky from the pucker of stitches at his side. 

"I have to do this on my own," Roy had told him and Jason had been trying to figure out how he was picturing Roy over the line. His mind supplied him with the familiar.

Roy would be in the workspace of the safe house in LA. He would be in a white shirt under some ugly button up layered over stained jeans. He would be messy haired with a smudge of grease along his jaw, the red of his stubble darker around his mouth and lighter along his jaw. He would have on that fucking hat, the one Jason hated because it-

He would have the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, both hands nimble on the circuits of some project. He couldn't be alone. He couldn't sit in silence. That's when he started listening to his head and started believing the bright ideas it tossed at him.

"It talks to me," Roy had tried to explain once when they were sitting at the rickety kitchen table on mismatched stools. Jason had been cleaning his guns and Roy had been watching his hands make something out of a toaster. Roy would talk when he needed to not pay attention to what he was creating. He made beautiful useful things by accident, like it was in his nature to build something that made the world better. Jason had always wondered if he understood that it was better because of him and his idle hands. 

"Not like, _right this second_ , but if I'm... if I don't like _feeling_ , then it talks to me. Like, I'll be sitting across the table from you or anyone, but I'm not really here. It could be a damned supermodel, Jaybird, and I'm talking to the booze. It's just... I'm thinking about when I can take the next shot. I'm thinking about how long is long enough. I'm wondering how long I have to wait for no one to notice that it's too soon to have more. I’m waiting for something to make the world black so I don’t have to be present in how much I hate m- I'm waiting for that moment when I won't care anymore because it's _there_. The booze is there and I can crawl inside a bottle and bottle myself up and it feels like freedom until I can’t get back out again.” 

He paused, ducking closer and using the edge of his nail to shift a capacitor as Jason held the half cleaned weapon and watched him. “If I just take the shot, take the sip, and it's warm and I won't feel like this."

"Like what?" Jason had asked.

"Like... like I'm _wrong_.” Roy had shrugged and handed Jason a wry weary smile and Jason hadn’t wanted to take it. “I’m wearing this Roy shaped suit and it's okay, but it doesn't feel right. It's too tight here and too loose there and it's awkward and ugly and people will notice. So, if I take that shot it like..." And he made a motion like he was taking a stack of cards and slapping them back to straight. "I _fit_." 

Roy had looked up at him, eyes urgent as he tried to explain. "I won’t care that no one could possibly love such a broken thing. I won’t care that I’m not good enough. I don’t... nothing _hurts_ anymore and I'm golden. It's just warm and I don't care. I don't care that I'm not enough."

"Hey-"

" _Naw_ , I know it's a lie, Jaybird." He'd shrugged and Jason watched him smear on a brave face, smear on the flirtatious smile that rippled over his mouth and out into the world like he was daring it to love him. "But the only person I've ever been able to successfully lie to is myself."

Jason had wanted to set the weapon down. He’d wanted to reach out and put a hand on top of Roy’s and make him look up. He’d wanted. It was an urge to push him against a wall and make him see the person he saw. He wanted to crawl over the bodies of his pain that Roy shed around him like sandbags, shoring up the sides of his smile. 

He’d picked up the wire brush instead and let Roy rest in his truth. He’d tried to save an addict once.

Now, the room felt too small for his restrained regrets that simmered under the rage. It was always easier to exist in this space between pain and loss if he was in motion. He stared up at the broad planes of the false Roy’s face, the way it was smiling softly and tucking him in like he was fragile. He needed it to understand that he didn’t deserve this.

“I wasn’t _there_. I should have been there. He needed me.”

The bot straightened and touched its fingertips to Jason’s pulse at the inside of his wrist. “You’re here now.”

“ _He’s_ not.”

“Get some sleep, Jaybird,” the bot replied, head clicking to the side and fitting into a smile. “I will be here when you wake up.”

“Stop.” Jason wasn’t sure if that felt like comfort or threat as the cold flipped through his veins and pulled him under again. “Don’t call me that.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are scraped close and nuzzled like a pile of fuzzy stuffed animals with the abandon of a small child. I have a [tumblr](http://irolltwenties.tumblr.com) if you want to come flail.


End file.
